


Kings of the Noldor

by FossilizedGrablin



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Brothers, Burning of the Ships at Losgar, Childhood Memories, Gen, Healing, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Maglor's POV, Post-Rescue from Thangorodrim, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Rivalry, Survivor Guilt, Tolkien Gen Week - Freeform, russingon is implied but feel free to ignore that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 15:16:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13390560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FossilizedGrablin/pseuds/FossilizedGrablin
Summary: Maedhros has just been rescued from the Enemy. Maglor and his brother finally talk about Things.





	Kings of the Noldor

**Author's Note:**

> So I didn't even run this through proofreaders or betas like I usually like to, and I'm super late for Tolkien Gen Week's "Family" prompt anyway, but it's something! I have a lot of sibling feels, especially about these two. I hope to write more about them in the future. As usual, it's kinda all over the place.

“Nelyo, I told you, I’m not going to sleep!” Maglor sat up in his bed, stubby arms crossed, a solid frown on his face. Maedhros mirrored his expression to a somewhat insultingly accurate degree.

“But ammë said to go to sleep. Come on, dummy, it will help your leg!”

“You’re not ammë. And I can’t sleep!”

Maedhros rolled his eyes and got down on his knees beside the bed. “But you must. Or you’ll never be able to climb trees again.”

“But I’m _bored_ ,” Maglor insisted, glaring at his brother and ignoring his overblown warning. “It will take me forever to fall asleep. Laurelin is too bright!”

“You just like to complain,” Maedhros said, parroting their mother. “Here, I’ll stay and sing to you until you fall asleep. How about that?”

Maglor narrowed his eyes. He loved hearing songs, and his brother always had good ones, even if he wasn’t the _best_ singer. Maedhros was using this against him. “I’m not a baby,” Maglor said petulantly.

“I know two new Teleri songs that you don’t,” Maedhros said, enticingly. Maglor couldn’t help himself.

“Nelyo, teach them to me! You must, right now!” He loved the strange, wild music of the Teleri so much.

“Alright,” Maedhros agreed, “but you’ve got to try to go to sleep.”

~~~

Two pasings of the moon had come and gone since Fingon had returned with Maedhros. Ravaged by hunger and abuse, Maglor had barely recognized his elder brother. Even the eyes were different. It was almost imperceptible but the once honey-hazel eyes he’d inherited from their mother were just a shade more golden than they should have been.

The night sky was overcast and it was completely dark as Maglor, led by the soft blue glow of one of his father’s old lights, crept to Maedhros’s tent. Fingon, for once, was absent. He had ridden out with a sizeable unit to sweep for orcs in the area, since scouts had come back with reports of them earlier. But when Maglor entered the tent, he found it empty. His heart leapt into his throat for a moment. Where could Maedhros have gone? Was he alone? He had been primarily bedridden for the past two months, being too sick and weak to do much else.

Maglor didn’t run, but he moved quickly, ducking out of the tent and looking in every direction, as far as he could see in the dark. He held his light aloft, and noticed a dark shape huddled on the shore of the lake. He still didn’t run, but when he neared the dark form, he saw the shape and glimmer of a dirk held aloft, illuminated by the light of his lamp.

“Don’t come any closer, please.” Maedhros’s voice was low and raspy. He could see him better now, the short, wild hair that Maglor would never get used to, and the ruffed collar of a huge fur cloak he’d gotten from... somewhere.

“Nelyo, it’s Kano. What are you doing out here? It’s cold and the stars aren’t even out.”

Maedhros twisted around just slightly, so that Maglor could see the side of his marred face. He lowered the knife but kept it on his lap, in sight. “It’s fine. But don’t come any closer.”

Maglor didn’t protest, and went to sit a few feet down the shore.

“Are you alright?” He asked. “I didn’t even realize you could walk on your own.”

“I can.”

“Evidently.”

“Do you need something, Kano?” There was no emotion behind the question. 

“I only wished to check on you,” Maglor said. He was never sure of his brother’s condition from one moment to the next. Maedhros was quiet, usually. Sometimes he could be heard talking softly with Fingon, though Fingon, as ever, did most of the talking. Sometimes he could be heard screaming in his sleep. When and if he slept. He had had a fever that lasted two weeks, and Maglor had been legitimately frightened that he might burn to ash as their father had. But once the fever had broken, he rarely slept.

Maedhros said nothing, only continued to stare out at the black water of the lake. It was a still, cold night, and wavelets lapped placidly at the pebbled shore.

Maglor didn’t speak either. What to say? As children, he and his brother had been close. But after the theft of the Silmarils, their grandfather’s murder, their strife with the Valar, Alqualondë, Losgar, things between them became stretched. Maglor wasn’t even sure how or why, or what twisting paths of stress and resentment had pulled them apart. Maedhros had been silently furious about the burning of the ships. When they realized what had happened to Amrod, though, Maglor was certain Maedhros would kill Fëanor. He remembered vividly, the roar of the flames on the water, Maedhros and his father facing each other down with naked steel in their hands. But Feanor had thrown down his sword, and Maedhros had walked away. Not another word had been spoken that night, save the soft voice of the eldest brother trying to comfort the youngest.

And after Fëanor’s death, after Maedhros had made the decision to try and treat with Enemy, he and Maglor had fought. Bitterly.

“You walk into the enemy’s hands, Maitimo. What could we possibly offer them when they have the jewels? At best it’s a waste of time and at worst it’s a trap. One does not parlay with evil.”

“Do not speak to me of evil. Not after what we did in Alqualondë. Not after Losgar! We’re here to retrieve the jewels and not ponder the nature of good and evil. The chance to claim what is ours has arisen and I will take it. That is the oath I swore.”

“Go ahead and pretend that you’re not an idealistic fool,” Maglor snapped. “When has anything been this simple?”

“Remember you speak to your king, Makalaurë,” Maedhros said, his voice low and dangerous, but it only reminded Maglor of when they were children and when he would say, “well _I’m_ the eldest!” Maglor only curled his lip and skulked out of the tent, done with him. He would practice scales on his lute and let his brother march to his doom.

But he had. Somewhere in his heart, Maglor had expected Maedhros to return. He anticipated being annoyed as Maedhros gave him that condescending, elder brother look, whether he came back with a Silmaril or not. He wouldn’t gloat. That wasn’t his way, not in this situation at least. He would just be quietly righteous.

But he didn’t return. No one returned, and Maglor found himself king of the Noldor in Beleriand.

There was the plunking sound of a stone dropping into water, and a mumbled curse. Maglor looked up. Maedhros was feeling over the stones on the shore for another rock to throw. Maglor had looked down around himself. Maedhros had taught him how to skip rocks when they were children, on a sapphire-blue lake near their home. He picked up a suitable-looking stone, but he didn’t throw it.

“Kano…”

Maglor was somewhat startled to hear him speak. “Yes?”

“I’ve actually been wanting to talk to you…” His voice broke slightly. Maglor felt a minor pang of dread.

“I’m here,” he said. He remembered countless nightmares. Maedhros, burning. LIke their father. But staring at him with red-rimmed eyes. _Why didn’t you come for me, Kano? You left me. You betrayed me_ . Meeting a grotesque, twisted monster on the battlefield that still had the honey-hazel eyes and a shock of the tell-tale copper hair. _Why did you betray me, Kano_

He shuddered and forced back tears. Maedhros was no orc. He was different, but he was no orc.

“I should have listened to you,” Maedhros said softly. “We could have devised another means of retrieving the jewels. It’s very late for regrets, but I think I’m still going to have a few.” He seemed to attempt a chuckle, but it turned into a cough.

“Nelyo, please don’t mock me. I should have gone with you. One of us at least should have gone with you.”

“One more dead or… or worse. We were outnumbered. And there were Valaraukar. We didn’t have much of a chance. I am sufficiently humbled about my decision in the matter.”

“The oath…” Maglor began wretchedly.

Maedhros coughed again, and unsuccessfully tried to skip another rock. “I wasn’t mocking you, Kano.”

“Are you not angry with me, though?” Maglor asked, by now frustrated. “We did nothing to try and save you. I did nothing. I pretended you were dead. It’s haunted my every moment, waking or sleeping. And after Findekáno merely walks in and carries you out, I am left entirely without an excuse.”

Maedhros was quiet for a moment. “You held fast to your common sense,” he said. “I don’t know what I would have done in the same situation. Perhaps doomed us all in a futile rescue attempt, if my prior judgement is anything to go on. You preserved your people. That’s what a king ought to do.”

“But I did nothing. I didn’t even try.” Maglor couldn’t help but feel this was Maedhros’s sanctimony at it again. He hated himself for it but he couldn’t help it. Why was he not angry?

“And you shouldn’t have. Kano, please. I… I won’t pretend I… I wasn’t angry, but… It was only at the time. It was… I…” He seemed to lose his voice for a moment and pulled his cloak tighter around himself. Maglor was miserable. Maedhros had been a self-righteous ass at times, but he had also been gentle and strong. He had always laughed at Maglor’s dour humor and listened to him complain about his songs, and now…

“It’s alright, Nelyo,” Maglor said. “It’s alright. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

“Kano…”

“Yes?”

“I’m giving up the crown.”

Maglor felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

“Nelyo, you cannot. I cannot…”

Maedhros shook his head. “I must. Look at me, I… I’m not what I was.”  
  
“I can’t take the crown again, I don’t want it.”

“I’m giving it to Ñolofinwë."

Maglor started. “You’re what?”

“I intend to make amends for this rift between our families once and for all. And it is the least thanks I can possibly give. To Finn- To Findekáno and his line.”

Maglor pondered for a moment. He knew how close his brother and Fingon were. When he was young, he had been jealous until he found out exactly how close they were. “People may talk,” he said, not ungently. “Curvo and Tyelkormo will have a collective fit.”

Maedhros coughed. “And what else is new?” He smiled a little. “I’ll barely be able to manage our own people much less all the Noldor in Beleriand.” Maglor found himself nodding emphatically in agreement. He had managed. But as soon as the embittered, half-frozen Nolofinwions and Arafinwions had appeared, things had become much trickier.

“Yes, let Ñolofinwë have the mess. You say this is your means of _healing_ family relations?” Maglor chuckled dismally.

Maedhros seemed unsure for a moment. “Do you think it’s truly a poor idea?”

“As my father’s son, I would say I am offended by the very notion of you relinquishing your birthright to our uncle. But… As your brother, and as a very weary de facto high king… I will support your decision.”

“I anticipate some initial upheaval but in the end I believe things will smooth out. I just… I cannot be a king anymore, Kano. Especially not now. I’m not a king.” His voice broke during the last sentence and he trembled visibly. Maglor wanted to reach out, to hug him like Maedhros had held him as an upset child. But he didn’t think it wise. He could still see the dagger reflecting the blue glow of his lamp.

Maglor, for all his sensitivity, had never been one who excelled in offering comfort. His heart broke for his brother as he remembered yet again all the nightmarish tales that had found their way from Angband into Hithlum. The scars, the other injuries, his screams at night, and his fragile emotional state all confirmed much of what he had heard.

“Nelyo, come with me back to your tent. I’ll sit up with you if you wish to sleep.”

Maedhros looked up at him while avoiding a direct gaze. His eyes were glassy. “No, I’m sorry. That’s not necessary."

“Your hröa wants sleep. You’re exhausted, look at you. Come on.” Maglor had risen to his feet and was surprised when Maedhros almost immediately followed his lead. He was still a good half-head taller, which somehow comforted Maglor.

In the tent, Maedhros warily climbed onto his cot, keeping his maimed arm as still as he could in its sling. He didn’t remove the cloak but rather buried himself under it and several more blankets. Maglor seated himself on a pile of cushions on the ground. He didn’t bother to fetch his lute or harp, half afraid that Maedhros might escape again. Instead he began to hum, and then to sing. Not songs he had written, but old folk songs they had both liked in their youth. Maglor wove all his wishes for healing and rest into the notes and in-between the words, and hoped they found willing ears.


End file.
